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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24492649">of new intentions</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/pseuds/nicole_writes'>nicole_writes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Day 1: Childhood/Future, Day 2: Dance/Jealousy, Day 3: Scars/Sacrifice, Day 4: Confession/Bittersweet, Day 5: Birthday/Reunion, Day 6: AU/First Time, Day 7: Free Day, Day 7: Ring, Dorothea takes no shit and I love it, F/M, Felix calls Sylvain out, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Introducing the Ring Antagonist, Local man doesn't know what to do with feelings for best friend, Love in War is tough, Mercedes von Martritz is Too Insightful, Post-Time Skip, Sylvain Jose Gautier Being An Idiot, Sylvain Jose Gautier is in Love, Sylvgrid Week, no beta we die like Glenn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:53:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,031</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24492649</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/pseuds/nicole_writes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sylvain and Ingrid as the war begins to end. / for sylvgrid week on Twitter</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dorothea Arnault &amp; Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius &amp; Ingrid Brandl Galatea &amp; Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius &amp; Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea &amp; Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Sylvain Jose Gautier &amp; Mercedes von Martritz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Sylvgrid week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. i. future</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnilee/gifts">sunnilee</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emi_Waka/gifts">Emi_Waka</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julx3tte/gifts">Julx3tte</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperpenpal/gifts">paperpenpal</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I almost forgot about this event. Check the prompts on <a href="https://twitter.com/sylvgrid_week">Twitter</a> because I love these idiots so I'm going to do this, one way or another. </p><p>This one's for the Sylvgrid fam since they're all wonderful people who consistently show love for all the chaos we've been churning out lately.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>i. future</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Sylvain is lying on the grass in the courtyard with his eyes closed when he hears the rustle of fabric as someone sits next to him. He cracks an eye open and watches Mercedes adjust her skirts as she sits beside him under the shade of the tree. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifts, propping himself up on an elbow as he looks at Mercedes. “Mercie,” he greets, using Annette’s nickname. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercedes smiles at him. “Hello Sylvain,” she replies easily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the occasion that I’m blessed with your presence?” he asks, studying her carefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercedes takes a moment before she replies, poking a needle through the scarf she’s sewing. It looks like something Dedue would wear, but Sylvain wisely keeps that observation to himself. She feeds the needle back through the fabric, looping a strand of coloured string, and studies him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You stormed away from breakfast in an awfully big hurry this morning,” she notes calmly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain sighs and drops back onto his back, knitting his fingers behind his head. “Oh,” he mumbles. “Are you here to rat me out, Mercedes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she says. “Ingrid is perfectly capable of doing that. I wanted to see if you were okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain laughs. “You’re too good for the world, Mercedes. I don’t deserve your kindness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You seem to be under the impression that you don’t deserve a lot of things,” she says plainly and Sylvain feels uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercedes is unbelievably kind and compassionate, but she’s ruthlessly insightful and just passive-aggressive enough to poke at him in all the places that make him twitchy or weak feeling. She’s a brutal secret keeper because she won’t let him brood, even if that’s all he wants to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had flying patrol this morning,” Sylvain lies. “I had to get to patrol.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ashe and Petra had patrol, actually,” Mercedes corrects. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He huffs. “Stop being good at this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugs in his peripheral. “Are you going to keep lying to me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs. “I just got nervous,” he mumbles. “We’re in the middle of a war and everyone was talking about what they were going to do after the war.”</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Are you afraid of talking about the future?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not afraid,” he disagrees, “it’s just hard to imagine, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercedes places the scarf down on her lap and looks at him. “It’s hard to imagine us all going our separate ways after all of this is over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain thinks of the way that Felix watches Annette when he thinks she’s not watching. He thinks of the flowers in the greenhouse that Dedue grows specifically because Mercedes likes the colour, even if flowers aren’t the most practical thing to be growing during a war. He thinks of Petra and Ashe showing up late to a war meeting, drenched from an impromptu swim in the lake nearby. He thinks of the time that he walked in on Byleth and Dimitri in a room on the second floor where they were seated on a chaise talking in low tones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks of Ingrid and her piles of letters from her father presenting her with viable suitor candidates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We won’t be as separate as we once might have been,” Sylvain points out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercedes giggles. “No, I suppose not.” She hums quietly as she pulls the next few stitches into the scarf. “You never answered Annette’s question this morning. Will you be headed straight back to Gautier when this is all done? I imagine your father would want you home, wouldn’t he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain closes his eyes and tries to imagine what his father would say. “He’ll want me back the minute Enbarr is secured,” he agrees. “I’m his heir after all, and there’s no end to the shit we deal with in Sreng.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re just going to leave when he calls?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain groans and rubs his face. “I don’t know,” he grumbles. “I don’t want to, but I don’t know if I had a choice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe if you used the thing that’s sitting in your pocket, you might have a reason to stay longer,” she replies calmly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain’s hand shoots to the breast pocket of his jacket. It’s still there, pressed against his heart, and he has no idea how Mercedes knows it exists, much less what he plans to do with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I found one of the letters you didn’t send in the Blue Lion classroom last week,” she says, answering his question before he can ask it. “Have you sent one since?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he mumbles. “I don’t know why her father would consider me at all, anyways. It’s not like my reputation helps in this fact.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sylvain,” Mercedes interjects, “if you honestly think that she would let her father decide her future if she wants to spend it with someone, you don’t know her as well as you should.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs heavily and pulls the offending object out of his pocket. It’s a gold ring with an insignia stamped into the top of it. For a Crest ring, it’s rather pretty, and he knows that’s why his mother entrusted it to him when he asked nicely. She had always been more reasonable than his father. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercedes looks at him again, staring right through him. “You have no idea what she would say, do you? Is there really any harm in asking her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slides the ring back into his pocket and sits up. “How much do you know about Glenn Fraldarius?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough,” she replies calmly, poking the needle through the fabric again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ingrid loved him. She loved him and he died in battle. But, his very existence, and their engagement, took agency away from her. I can’t do that to her again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercedes reaches out to touch his hand. “Sylvain, the very fact that you are worried about that tells me that you would never take agency away from her. You care about her too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if I die?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then at least you’ll not have died with this weighing you down and being kept a secret from one of your closest friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain looks across the courtyard and his eyes land on Ingrid and Dorothea as they walk across the path into the Entrance Hall. He knows how he feels and he knows what he wants to do with the ring weighing him down, but there’s so much uncertainty in war. It took years of pain for Ingrid to get over Glenn’s death. At least this way, if he goes out stupidly in battle she’ll only have to look back on him as Sylvain, the stupid friend, not Sylvain, the stupid fiancé.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll think about it,” he tells Mercedes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He will think about it – when the war is over. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. ii. jealousy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sylvain has letters to send. He also has one glaring letter that he's not sure he <i>can</i> send. / day 2: jealousy</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I refuse to let this defeat me. </p>
<p>Sylvain has such good supports with so many characters. Yesterday I touched on his supports with Mercie, and today's Sylvain call-out friend is Dorothea, who also has wonderful supports with both Sylvain and Ingrid. It's another chapter without Ingrid, but I promise she'll make an appearance tomorrow!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>ii. jealousy</em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain is returning his father’s correspondence when Dorothea sits in the seat in front of him, turning the chair so that she can lean over his work. He tries to ignore her, but she isn’t deterred as he hoped she might be as she cups her face with her hands and lets her elbows rest on either side of the letter he’s writing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, he sighs. “What do you want, Thea?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles. “Oh nothing,” she sings back. “I’m just wondering what you’re doing is all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gives her a flat look. “Writing to my father,” he replies shortly. He scribbles the last part of the letter and signs his name quickly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He folds the letter and slides it into an envelope before Dorothea can attempt to read his messy upside-down writing. She smiles at him innocently like she didn’t come over here specifically to stir up trouble. Sylvain holds eye contact with her suspiciously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A lot of correspondence headed home recently, isn’t there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain sighs. “I suppose. I’ve been coordinating with my father and Catherine has been discussing with hers. Annette can finally write to Dominic without fear of her letters being burned en route.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dorothea smirks. “I was talking about all those letters Ingrid has been sending back to Galatea. Letters about suitors.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A knot twists in Sylvain’s stomach and he hates himself. This is Ingrid. He’s not allowed to feel jealous of arranged suitors because it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ingrid</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I know what you’re trying to do, Dorothea,” he grumbles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She bats her eyelashes. “Is it working? Your ears are red so I’m going to assume that it’s working.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He frowns. “Fine,” he snaps, “it’s working. You’ve made your point. Can you leave me to my letters now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dorothea’s smug facade vanishes and she leans away from him, changing into the more direct, honest woman that Sylvain has gotten to know recently. “She’s rejecting all of them,” she adds quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain tries to keep his eyes glued to the letter in front of him, but they flicker up against his will in his surprise. Caught, he continues, “All of them?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods. “Apparently she doesn’t even want to meet with any of them until the war is done. Even then, I think she’s had a taste for freedom now. I have a feeling our Ingrid is going to fight her father a lot harder about these things from now on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain thinks of the stack of unsent letters shoved in a drawer in his room. He doesn’t know if he feels better or worse about the fact that Ingrid is rejecting all of her suitors. It’s nice to know that she’s feeling independent and his jealousy lessens when he knows that it’s not like she’s going to start seeing someone all of a sudden, but there’s a dread that settles in his stomach as he thinks about his own intentions. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s still carrying the damn ring around, after all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sylvain?” Dorothea prods and he realizes that she had asked him something and he hadn’t been paying attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He straightens. “Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugs. “I was just asking what correspondence was so important besides the usual letter to your father.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs. He has three letters to write: one to his mother to explain he still hasn’t written to Ingrid’s father, one to the current scion of House Rowe, and then, of course, the dreaded letter to Galatea. Technically, this letter is for business purposes only since he’s supposed to be working with Catherine, Gilbert, and Felix to rearrange the Kingdom’s scattered troops. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mostly letters on behalf of Dimitri. Since my father has taken charge of directing the base parts of the forces that remain in Kingdom territories, I’ve volunteered to help Dimitri and the Professor consolidate all the information we have.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dorothea hums in agreement. “No courtship letters?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs. “We’re in the middle of a war, Dorothea, as far as I’m concerned, Ingrid has the right idea in waiting until later.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How can I help? What are you working through right now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks. “Uh,” he staggers and Dorothea takes advantage of his surprise to slide two of the three sheets of parchment towards herself, reading the addresses on them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“House Rowe and House Gautier,” she reads aloud. She cocks a brow at him when she discovers the letter he’s writing home. “Didn’t you just finish your letter to your father?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He huffs and takes the letters back. “This one is to my mother. It’s personal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles when he says personal and leans forward again. “And, of course, this has nothing to do with the way you looked like you were going to break your lance of Ashe’s head after training yesterday? And nothing to do with the fact that our dear Ingrid has redoubled her dedication to the crown since Fhirdiad?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain drops his head to the table and groans. “Come on, Dorothea, just leave me alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Never,” she teases. “You and me are the same remember? Horribly jealous creatures.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lifts his head to stare at her. “You’re the worst.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re the same,” she sings lightly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs. “Look, if you really want to help, I would appreciate a cup of tea. This is going to take me a while yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dorothea smiles at him. “Sure thing.” She stands up and leans forward and presses a light kiss to his cheek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She walks away from him towards the door to the entrance of the former Blue Lions classroom. She pauses at the door and Sylvain glances back at her. She drums her fingers over the doorframe and smiles at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, I’m sure Ingrid wouldn’t immediately reject a letter if it came from you, Sylvain.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe,” he concedes, “but we’re in the middle of a war,” he reiterates. “I still think she has the right idea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dorothea looks at him. “She might be waiting now, but she won’t wait forever. There are other people involved in this too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvain runs a hand through his hair. “You’re her friend, Thea, so you should understand when I say that I’m not doing anything until she wants something to happen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dorothea smiles faintly. “Well, if you’re going to wait for a sign from her, knowing her, you may be waiting longer than you originally anticipated.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. iii. scars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>No one gets through war without a few scars to prove it. / day 3: scars</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ingrid finally makes an appearance! I'm going back to work now, but it's nice to finally bring her into this fic haha.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>iii. scars</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Sylvain is straightening his shirt when the flap to his tent flies open and his small, very angry friend storms into the tent. Ingrid doesn’t pause, heading right for him, looking like she’s absolutely about to murder him. Sylvain raises his hands in a weak defence, but Ingrid ignores him, punching his right shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glares up at him and crosses her arms. Her hair is flattened and sweaty from her helmet and she’s got a smear of something reddish-brown on her cheek that Sylvain can’t tell if it is blood or dirt. She has obviously come straight to see him and she looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>angry</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell, Sylvain!” she demands. Her green eyes blaze and her intensity is so stifling that he leans away from her out of reflex. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Ing,” he mutters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First you tell me you want to look out for me, but then you go and get yourself shot for me.” She reaches for his shirt, fisting her hands into the thin cotton material. “Let me see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ingrid,” he says, trying to remove her hands from his shirt. “It’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me see,” she repeats sharply, not relenting her grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tugs at the fabric more strongly and pulls it partway up his abdomen. Sylvain finally relents and pulls the shirt off. His left shoulder twinges with pain as he maneuvers it over his head. He holds it awkwardly in his hand for a moment as Ingrid stares at the angry red wound just below his collarbone on the left side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wound had, thankfully, been clean enough that Marianne had removed the arrow, given him a few very strong white magic spells, and used stitches to hold it closed. Still, the arrow had found an inconvenient joint in his armour and combined with the fact that the first shot had sent his wyvern into a spiral, it had not been terribly helpful in his attempts to stay in his saddle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine, Ingrid,” Sylvain says quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hands fly out in her frustration. “You fell almost twenty feet from a spinning wyvern! I know you think you’re invincible, but you’re not! You’re lucky you weren’t more seriously hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain drops his shirt onto the chair next to him and catches Ingrid’s flailing hands and brings them together, closing his hands over hers. His action has the intended effect and she quiets immediately, staring at their joined hands. He squeezes her hands lightly before letting them drop slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He decides not to mention the fact that Mercedes had reset two of the bones in his leg before Marianne had taken over to handle the arrow wound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” he says again with a bit more force behind the words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowns. One of her hands drifts up and touches his chest, just under where the healing puncture wound is. Sylvain resists the urge to shiver at her light touch and he watches the displeasure and concern flit across her face instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s going to scar,” she mumbles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain shrugs his right shoulder, trying not to disturb her touch. “Won’t be my first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid’s hand slides down to the centre of his chest at the bottom of his ribcage and touches the star-shaped scar there. Then her fingers drift along the right side of his ribcage to the long, skinny scar down his right side. Her touch is light enough that it tickles and Sylvain practically holds his breath so that he doesn’t move suddenly and startle her away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She seems distressed by the number of scars on his torso. There are countless more along his arms and hands and he knows there are some on his legs as well. Her fingers trace the path of the long scar. “Where did all of these come from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That one’s from a bandit from back at the academy. Ashe missed a shot and the guy got a bit too close.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hand falls back to the star-shaped one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fhirdiad,” he mumbles. “A shot from a magic bow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, she touches a white scar just above his right hip. It’s about three inches long and an inch wide, but it had healed years and years ago. It has nothing to do with the war that they’re currently entrenched in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miklan,” Sylvain breathes quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid’s brow knits further and she lifts her eyes back to his. “Promise me you’ll be more careful,” she says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lips twitch into a small smile. “Only if you stop flying into areas where you can get shot by archers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowns again. “That path should have been clear. Felix had been doing a clearing job on the ground.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain laughs. “So I can get mad at Fe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid scowls. “Sylvain.” Her tone is warning and sharp and he smiles faintly again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, whatever happened, happened. There were a couple of Bow Knights where there weren’t supposed to be. We made it through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She closes her eyes and he sees the guilt she had been trying to suppress bubbling to the surface. “I’m the aerial commander,” she says. “Today’s losses are on me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Sylvain says firmly. He grabs her hands again and this time he links their fingers together. “You can’t blame yourself for every person that gets hurt in a war, Ing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs. “I’m tired, Sylvain,” she mumbles. She looks up at him and he sees the grief and exhaustion in her eyes and her expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mindful of his shoulder, he slides his arms around her and pulls her into a hug, resting his chin atop her head. Ingrid relaxes against him for a moment and her warm hands press against his bare back as she returns his hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over her head, he can see the corner of his tent where his bag is. Tucked safely in a pocket of his bag is the stupid ring that has been grating at him for months along with the most recent draft of his letter to her father. But, with Ingrid in his arms here, he finds that he doesn’t want to let go of the moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid goes tense against him after a moment and she quickly pries herself out of his arms. Sylvan blinks at her and he notices that her cheeks are absolutely flaming red and she seems to be fascinating by absolutely anything else in his tent except him. Sylvain almost feels offended until he realizes that–</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh yeah</span>
  </em>
  <span>–he’s not wearing a shirt at the moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hurriedly, he tugs his shirt over his head, ignoring the pain that flares in his shoulder. Ingrid looks back at him, but her blush doesn’t fade fully, leaving her cheekbones glowing pink. She presses her lips together and taps the front of his right shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No more reckless risks,” she says firmly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles at her. “If you’re in danger, no promises.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. iv. confession</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sylvain has a bad day and Felix takes none of his shit. / day 4: confession</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And enter Felix: the ultimate Sylvain call-out friend.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>iv - confession</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>It’s official. Sylvain is having the worst day ever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>First, he slept through breakfast thanks to his body’s exhaustion from the battle the week before. Then, his wyvern is in a pissy mood also thanks to the previous week’s battle and refuses to let him fly. Then, the letter in his bag went missing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ring was still there–and thank the goddess for that–but the letter was missing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The letter where he told Ingrid’s father that he wanted permission to court his daughter and that he wanted to have the Count’s blessing of his action. The letter that he has been putting off sending for weeks on end, much to his mother’s chagrin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now it is gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last place he remembers having it is the Cardinal’s room when he had habitually checked if it was still present all through the council meeting where they discussed the upcoming siege of Enbarr. Sylvain hurries back to the Cardinal’s Room and finds it empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His seat is empty, as is the table and there is no sign of the letter. He groans in frustration and cards his hands through his hair. If the letter is lying around somewhere it means someone could see it. It means that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ingrid</span>
  </em>
  <span> could see it, something he very much didn’t want to happen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He supposed that it could have been in the training grounds since he trained with Felix after the meeting, so he turns to leave, only to find himself face-to-face with Felix himself. Felix’s arms are crossed and he looks suspicious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Felix,” Sylvain greets warily, shifting his weight. The look on his friend’s face is similar to the one that he makes right before he launches a flurry of attacks on the training ground. Neither of them are carrying weapons right now, but Sylvain absolutely knows that Felix will kick his ass with both magic and brawling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you never tell me you were in love with Ingrid?” Felix asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain recoils like he had been punched. In fact, Felix actually socking him might have hurt less than the slightly confused and hurt expression on his friend’s face. His gaze darts past Felix, making sure they are alone and he sighs in relief when he sees that they are alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have to announce it so loudly?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Felix growls and digs something out of his pocket. He brandishes it at Sylvain. “You dropping this was as good as any shout.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels cold suddenly. “Did she see it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Felix says. “Only that you dropped it and that you were writing to her father. I convinced her it was war-related.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain feels light-headed and almost wants to collapse. “Oh thank the goddess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Felix studies him critically. “Why didn’t you tell me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Guilt knots in his stomach. “I didn’t want to upset you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Felix’s arms cross again and he scowls. “Upset me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Glenn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The name hangs between them tensely and Sylvain almost regrets saying it out loud. Felix’s arms uncross and his amber eyes darken with grief for a brief moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sylvain,” he says curtly, “Glenn is dead. He’s been dead for 9 years. If I was going to be offended by something like that I would be more offended by the fact that Ingrid’s father has been trying to arrange a betrothal for her all the way back to the academy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain runs a hand through his hair. “It’s stupid, I know, but I haven’t exactly told anyone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Byleth knows,” Felix says firmly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain stares at him. “The Professor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs. “I hadn’t thought much of it, really, but I do know she’s been looking at Ingrid’s ring finger for a while. I don’t know if you’ve been particularly subtle in all of this. I think even I knew, I just didn’t want to think that you wouldn’t have told me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She should have been the first to know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Felix shifts so that he leaves Sylvain a path to the door. “You can go tell her, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain looks at the letter Felix is still holding. “I should probably send a better version of that first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Felix narrows his eyes. “If you really think that having her father’s permission and going behind her back to get it is the best way to go about this, I don’t think you know her as well as you think you do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain groans. “I know. I want to just ask her, but she loves her father, Felix. She loves Galatea and she’ll do whatever it takes to help her people. If I’m not the best option for her, even if she says yes to me, her father will be disappointed and her people might suffer. I can’t put all of that on her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Prove to her that you care about her people too then. Prove to her that you’re worth it. Because, if you are, she’ll fight for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s fighting who?” Ingrid asks suddenly as she steps into the Cardinal’s Room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Felix subtly folds the letter and slips it out of Ingrid’s sight and Sylvain loves his friend more than anything in the world at that moment. Ingrid looks between the two of them, eyebrow raised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” she prompts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain smiles, letting years of instinctual charm guide him. “Dimitri and Edelgard. We’re worried that something is going to go wrong at the parlay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid folds her arms and looks suspicious. “I don’t think that Dimitri would do that. Edelgard, I wouldn’t be so sure about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d be more concerned about the Professor’s reaction if Edelgard does try to raise arms against Dimitri,” Felix mutters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid laughs lightly. “I hope he has the sense to keep her around once this is all over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’d be stupid not to,” Felix points out. “He’s head over heels for that woman.” His eyes flicker to Sylvain. “And I think she cares for him too. If he says the word, she’ll stay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain swallowed, his throat feeling suddenly dry. Ingrid, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice his discomfort as she turns to face Sylvain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to run flying drills this afternoon if you want to join me,” she invites. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain scratches the back of his head and recalls the way his mount had snapped at him earlier. “I don’t think my wyvern would be particularly fond of that idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes, but then her expression softens as her eyes drift to his left shoulder. “Maybe just take it easy then.” She looks at Felix. “You’re welcome to come too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head. “Fly fifty feet in the air? No thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid shrugs and makes to leave the room. She pauses in the doorway and smiles at both of her friends. Sylvain’s heart flips: she’s so beautiful. “I’ll see you both for dinner then!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid disappears and Felix levels him with a flat look. “Give her the damn ring, you idiot. Stop worrying about her father and start worrying about her.” He turns to leave, but pauses. “Any idiot can see that she loves you back.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know the prompt was literally confession, but Sylvain is not getting off that easily. </p><p>and the ring returns as the sole source of conflict ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. v. birthday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Verdant Rain Moon is the anniversary of some unpleasant events, but tea with a friend seems to help with the burden. / day 5: birthday</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>it's June 5th. It's Sylvain's birthday. He can have a little soft, as a treat, before I drop the other thing that I've been working on for today.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>v. birthday </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>The march on Enbarr is in six days. </p>
<p>Everyone is nervous and on edge and there have been so many strategy meetings in the last several days that Sylvain’s head feels like it’s constantly spinning. It’s not that Byleth isn’t a brilliant strategist, because she is, but rather that he feels a bit overwhelmed at the idea that all of this could be over soon. </p>
<p>They’ll kill Edelgard and take the Imperial capital or she’ll kill them and the united Kingdom-Alliance rule will be short-lived. </p>
<p>Sylvain stays up entirely too late one night reading his latest post from back home. His father’s letter is, thankfully, entirely war-related. It’s an update on the unification of the eastern Kingdom lords and the modified troop numbers from Gautier, Fraldarius, and Charon. At the bottom of the letter is the only personal detail. It tells him to write back to his mother. </p>
<p>His mother’s letter, on the other hand, is all personal. She, of course, updates him on the four noble ladies that have been corresponding with his father for when the war ends. She asks after her ring, the one still tucked away in Sylvain’s pocket, and asks if he has given it to the girl he said he would yet. </p>
<p>Worst of all, she brings up the anniversary that this month marks. It’s been five years since Miklan stole the Lance of Ruin from Gautier territory after being disowned. It’s been five years since Rhea ordered the Blue Lions to retrieve the Relic that is leaning against the wall by his door. </p>
<p>Today, of course, is the worst day of the month because today is Miklan’s birthday. </p>
<p>Sylvain stares at blank parchment and tries to think of something to write back to his mother. He doesn’t want to ask about the other women and their fathers that he knows his father has been in talks with. He doesn’t want to talk about the Lance of Ruin and the Crest he bears that makes it his birthright. </p>
<p>He doesn’t want to talk about the brother who spent most of his youth trying to murder him. </p>
<p>He’s still staring blankly at the sheet of parchment when there’s a knock on his doorframe. He turns his head and is surprised to see Ingrid standing in his doorway. Her hair is loose around her face and she’s wearing casual, comfortable riding clothes. She’s holding a tea tray and smiling lightly at him. </p>
<p>“Can I come in?”</p>
<p>Sylvain shoots to his feet and sweeps a hand into his room. “Yeah, of course.”</p>
<p>She sets the tea tray down on his desk next to the letter and fiddles with the tea, adding the leaves to the water so that it will brew for the right amount of time. By the rich, floral smell of the tea, it’s probably Bergamot, his favourite. </p>
<p>“You could have brought Chamomile,” he says, stepping next to her and watching her slim fingers fiddle with one of the teacups. </p>
<p>She shrugs. “You like Bergamot better.”</p>
<p>“You prefer Chamomile and it is already super late. The decaffeinated tea probably would have been a good call.”</p>
<p>Ingrid yawns and quickly covers her mouth. “I don’t need another reason to fall asleep. Besides, Mercedes made lavender tea cakes today which are divine with Bergamot.” She points out the slightly purple-tinted cakes on the tray next to the teapot. </p>
<p>Sylvain chuckles lightly. “Alright, fair enough. But, if we both sleep through the council meeting tomorrow morning because we stayed up too late, it’s on you.”</p>
<p>Ingrid laughs and checks the tea: it’s almost done, but not quite. Her gaze skims over his room, noting the clothes practically spilling out of his trunk and the weapon resting by his door. She doesn’t comment on it and it’s because he knows that she keeps Lúin in a similar place in her own room. </p>
<p>Then her gaze lands on his unwritten letter. She notes the address on it and turns to glance at him. “Writing home?”</p>
<p>He sighs and steps around her to sweep the blank letter into a drawer on his desk. “Trying to avoid it.”</p>
<p>When he looks back at her, Ingrid bites her lip and he knows she’s connected some of the dots herself. “Your father is after you about it too?”</p>
<p>Sylvain rubs at his temple. “He’s much more gung-ho about it than my mother, for sure. My mom just wants to talk about other things.” He’s aware of the bitterness that creeps into his tone, but he doesn’t have the energy this late at night to try and hide it. </p>
<p>Realization flickers on Ingrid’s face and she takes his hand, squeezing it lightly. “Verdant Rain Moon.”</p>
<p>Sylvain presses his lips together and gently pulls his hand away. He reaches around her for the now-steeped tea and pours two small cups. He picks up one and holds it out to Ingrid until she takes it and then he takes the other cup for himself. He leaves her the desk chair and goes to sit on his bed. To his surprise, she follows him and sits next to him. </p>
<p>“How are you feeling?” she asks quietly. </p>
<p>Sylvain considers the emotions swirling in his chest. “Frustrated?” he mumbled, picking one at random. “It’s like she still can’t see that I don’t want to think about him. That I would be happy to go the rest of my life without thinking about him.”</p>
<p>Ingrid’s hand touches his wrist gently. “She doesn’t know everything that happened, does she? Didn’t your father keep most of it from her?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he mutters, staring down into his tea. </p>
<p>“Then you can’t blame her,” Ingrid points out. “But,” she continues, “you don’t have to talk about him. Talk about Felix or Dimitri or what the sunset looked like over the monastery on patrol yesterday.”</p>
<p>He looks at her. She’s smiling at him and he wants to kiss her. He wants to drop his teacup–hot tea be damned–and pull her against him and never let her go. He hasn’t earned that right yet. He never sent a letter to her father and the ring’s in his pocket and they’re so close to the end of this war. </p>
<p>“I could talk about you,” he says instead. </p>
<p>Ingrid’s eyes widen and she blinks. “Um, yeah, I guess you could.” She stumbles over the words a little bit and Sylvain feels the tiniest bit smug that he made her stumble. </p>
<p>He turns the palm of the hand not holding his teacup up on his leg and his fingers extend. Ingrid’s hand falls into his without a second thought and he squeezes her hand. Their hands are both rough with callouses from riding and flying and wielding tools of war, but her fingers are slender and her skin is soft too. </p>
<p><em> I love you </em> bubbles up in his chest, but he presses it back. “Thanks, Ing,” he says instead.</p>
<p>She smiles at him and gently retracts her hand so that she can take a sip of her tea. Sylvain copies her and they smile at each other over floral decorated china. </p>
<hr/>
<p>They both sleep through the council meeting the next morning.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And yeah birthday here refers to Miklan's birthday and his death since, fun fact, I found out that the Gautier Inheritance happens in Verdant Rain Moon and I got much more excited than I should have.</p>
<p>two days left y'all! but don't worry, there's always more sylvgrid where I'm concerned.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. vi. first time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They can talk <i>after</i> when Enbarr isn't burning around them and Ingrid doesn't look like an angel set on a path of vengeance and Sylvain can actually breathe. / day 6: first time</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You write one angst fic and then suddenly everyone in discord is yelling at you.</p>
<p>Take some fluff instead then, jeez</p>
<p>(I'm kidding I love and treasure all of you)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> vi. first time </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Enbarr is burning. </p>
<p>They had hoped, futilely, that perhaps Edelgard might spare her people the brutality of war as it swept through the city streets, but their hopes had been clearly misplaced. The Adrestian Emperor had set defences through the main thoroughfare of the city and clearly hoped to stall the Kingdom forces there. Her own troops set fire to buildings to cause chaos and it made Sylvain feel sick. </p>
<p>He flies above the burning buildings on a wyvern that finally trusts him enough to let him fly. The Lance of Ruin is strapped to his back and he’s holding Hauteclere, the legendary axe that the Professor saw fit to equip him with. This high up, the axe helps more than the lance does because most of the Empire’s fliers are Pegasus Knights who rely on lances as their primary weapon. </p>
<p>Sylvain and Ingrid had been tasked with leading their battalions to the western side of the city to clear a path for the magic corps to advance. Sylvain swings his axe and cuts through a shoddily erected barrier, breaking it open. His wyvern lurches beneath him, twisting out of the path of an incoming javelin hurled by a nearby cavalier. </p>
<p>“Watch your back, Sylvain!” Ingrid yells from behind him. </p>
<p>There’s a shout as she takes down whoever had attacked him and he spins his mount to face her. There are a few heavy wing beats as both his wyvern and her pegasus fly just off the ground as they stare at each other. </p>
<p>Ingrid’s helmet is gone, lost somewhere in the chaos. She has a cut on her chin and her hair is flying in her face. One of her arms is bleeding from a shallow wound and she’s clutching Lúin so hard that he can see her white knuckles. She looks like chaos and Sylvain’s pretty sure he’s never been more in love with her than he is at this moment. </p>
<p>But, they’re in the middle of a warzone, and there’s no time for pleasantries as they learn soon enough. </p>
<p>A lance whizzes past him - thrown, exactly how lances are not supposed to be wielded - and while he’s fast enough to dodge, a pegasus can’t execute a dodging drop-twist like a wyvern can and the blade sinks into the hind flank of Ingrid’s pegasus. To his horror, she goes down hard, thrown from her mount as they both crash to the ground. </p>
<p>Sylvain turns, already reaching for the Tomahawk on his belt before he can process. He’s throwing the weapon at the soldier who took Ingrid down before he can think and he doesn’t even wait to see if his attack hits before he’s turning and flying back to Ingrid. </p>
<p>She’s already up and moving from where she’d been thrown, but as she checks over her mount, Sylvain feels a bit ill. He lands his wyvern next to her and scrambles off. Ingrid’s hands brush through her pegasus’s coat anxiously and Sylvain sees the cause of her stress easily enough. </p>
<p>The lance that had brought her down is a Horseslayer: a barbed lance specifically built to take down horses. Generally, no flier ever gets close enough to be taken out by one, but apparently their effectiveness extends to pegasi as well since Sylvain can tell that from here, Ingrid’s mount is probably done. </p>
<p>Her jaw sets and she pulls a spear from her back, turning to march into the fray on foot. Sylvain catches her arm before she can walk away from him. He mutters the Heal incantation as quickly as possible and white light sweeps over Ingrid as the cut on her arm seals shut. He has always had a gift with magic that she never possessed. </p>
<p>“Ingrid,” he says, his voice impossibly tinged with a million emotions. If she doesn’t know that he loves her, she sure as hell will after this. “You don’t fight on foot.”<br/><br/>She frowns, giving her poor mount on more look. “I don’t really have a choice.”</p>
<p>Sylvain takes her hand and points it towards his wyvern. She blanches. </p>
<p>“Sylvain, wyverns and pegasus don’t fly the same. Besides, then what do you do?”</p>
<p>“We go together,” he says firmly. “I fly and you fight. She can carry us both.”</p>
<p>“Sylvain,” she tries to argue, but he shakes his head. </p>
<p>“You’re not getting away from me, Ing.”</p>
<p>Something in her eyes softens and she finally nods. “Fine. Let’s go.” </p>
<p>She pulls her arm free and walks toward his wyvern with the purpose of a soldier twice as dedicated as any knight Sylvain has ever seen. She looks like someone to be reckoned with and Sylvain knows he would not want to be on the receiving end of her wrath, especially today now that her long-time companion and mount has been taken out. </p>
<p>“Ingrid!” he calls out and runs after her. </p>
<p>She turns just before she mounts his wyvern and tips her head curiously. Sylvain catches her face in his hands–gauntlets be damned–and presses their foreheads together. “Stay alive,” he says desperately with all the subtlety of Felix when he’s looking to pick a fight. </p>
<p>She doesn’t reply to him, her lips parted in surprise, but there’s something in her gaze that flickers low and hot and makes him want to kiss her desperately. He doesn’t. There’s no time for romance in the middle of a war. But, <em>after</em>. He makes no promises about after. </p>
<p>His hand fumbles into his pocket, nearly unhooking his armour and he pulls out the ring. He curls her hand around it, not letting her look at it and stares her in the eye. He keeps his hand curled around hers as their eyes lock. </p>
<p>“<em>After</em>,” he says firmly. </p>
<p>Her lips tighten and she nods. </p>
<p>An arrow whizzes past him and Sylvain pivots, practically jumping into his saddle. Ingrid climbs on behind him. One of her hands grips the straps of his armour so she can stay balanced and the other holds Lúin so that she can attack. Sylvain tightens his knees and the wyvern lifts off in a burst of speed. Behind him, he feels Ingrid’s legs lock into a sturdy position so that she is both balanced and poised to attack–the posture of a trained flier. </p>
<p>It’s a little awkward with two of them on one mount, but it’s the first time they’ve ever had to share and by the wreckage that they leave behind them, they don’t do too badly until they breach the palace gates and they both dismount to fight on foot indoors. </p>
<p>Sylvain carves a path for Dimitri with his axe and his heart hammers. <em> After</em>, he reminds himself. He feels lighter, somehow, now that she has the ring. She has to know, now, and that’s both the most terrifying and the most vindicating thing he’s ever felt.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. vii. ring</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The war is over. It's <i>After</i>. / day 7: free day (ring)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I have been told multiple times that last chapter seemed like a set-up to a character death... Hm...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> vii. ring </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Dimitri gets the final blow in on Edelgard. Areadbhar deals the strike and it’s over. By a very slight technicality, this means that <em>the war is finally over</em>. </p>
<p>Sylvain presses the head of his axe against the ground and leans on it heavily. Every muscle in his body hurts more than he thought it could. He’s sore in places he didn’t even know could be sore. A headache pounds against his temple and he winces. He had gone one on one against a Fortress Knight at one point inside the palace which had been a mistake. His armour was built for riding wyvern, not for withstanding armoured blows.</p>
<p>“Sylvain!” a voice calls and he turns to see Annette jogging towards him, almost tripping on the hem of her Gremory robes. </p>
<p>She lets out a little gasp when she gets close to him and immediately draws the rune for a Recover spell. The pain on the side of his head fades a little and he flashes a wide smile at Annette. </p>
<p>“Thanks, Annette,” he says. </p>
<p>She purses her lips. “You should still go see Mercie about that.” She pauses like she wants to say something else and Sylvain raises an eyebrow, gesturing for her to continue. “Have you seen Felix?”</p>
<p>He dimly recalls having seen his friend in the chamber outside of the throne room where he was fighting like a whirlwind in typical Felix fashion. He directs Annette to where he last saw Felix and almost laughs as she basically sprints away from him, almost tripping on her dress again. </p>
<p>He steals a glance towards the centre of the throne room where the Professor and Dimitri are standing. There’s a faint glow around them which looks like healing magic, so Sylvain reckons that Byleth is probably giving Dimitri some assistance. Clashing blades with whatever the emperor had turned herself into couldn’t have been the easiest thing in the world. </p>
<p>A thought strikes him. Edelgard is dead. The war is, effectively, over. It’s <em> After</em>. </p>
<p>He practically drops his axe as he turns, jogging out of the central chamber, scanning for familiar faces. Just outside the doors he sees Annette who had successfully found Felix and on the other side is Mercedes helping Dedue remove pieces of his plate so that she can give him a touch of healing. </p>
<p>Sylvain’s head whips around and his heart tightens because <em>she has to be okay</em>. Thankfully, after a brief second, he spots a head of blonde hair speaking with a woman with dark hair. He strides towards them quickly and easily picks up Dorothea and Ingrid’s voices. He pushes aside a Kingdom foot soldier so he’s standing right in front of both women. </p>
<p>Ingrid is bleeding from a cut on her cheek, but she’s smiling and she’s alive and she looks radiant. Sylvain has never been more in love with her than he is at this moment. For a second, he just stands there stupidly, staring at Ingrid, but then Dorothea spots him. </p>
<p>“Sylvain!” She pauses mid-sentence and cocks her head, probably assessing the blood matting his hair on the side of his head. “Wow, you look like shit.”</p>
<p>He shrugs. “We’re alive, aren’t we?”</p>
<p>Dorothea smiles. Her eyes flicker between Ingrid and Sylvain. Ingrid’s smile has dropped since he arrived and she looks suddenly incredibly unsure of herself. Dorothea steps away and Sylvain steps forward, pulling Ingrid forwards by her shoulder into a bruising hug. In the moment, the entire world narrows down to Ingrid in his arms as her hands come up to clutch at his armour and she hugs him back. </p>
<p>Dorothea slinks away and Sylvain buries his nose in Ingrid’s hair, breathing in. They both smell like sweat and war and blood, but they’re <em>alive</em>. </p>
<p>“Ingrid,” he breathes.</p>
<p>She goes tense against him suddenly and Sylvain loosens his arms around her, leaning back to look into her face. There’s guilt in her eyes and in the firm line of her mouth and Sylvain almost feels sick. </p>
<p>“What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>She closes her eyes and leans forward until her forehead rests against his collarbone. “The ring you gave me. That was your mother’s ring, wasn’t it?”</p>
<p>A lump wells in his throat. “Ingrid.”</p>
<p>She looks up. “Wasn’t it?” she presses. </p>
<p>Sylvain nods. “Yes.”</p>
<p>His own voice has dropped in volume so it’s almost a whisper. The sudden fear of rejection wells in his chest until it feels like he can’t breathe. He had been so sure that he had been reading her right. He had been so sure that he hadn’t been imagining her gentle touches and the soft gazes the whole time and now, faced with the idea that he might have been wrong, he feels sick. </p>
<p>Ingrid’s head thuds against his armour. Sylvain’s thumb rubs her waist instinctually as his brain whirs, trying to get a handle of all of the feelings racing through his mind. </p>
<p>“Did you not want me to give it to you?”</p>
<p>Ingrid jerks back, her eyes blazing green as she stares at him, looking offended. “Sylvain! Of course I wanted you to give it to me.”</p>
<p>His panic fades to confusion. “Then?”</p>
<p>She winces. “I put it on a chain around my neck during the fight and,” she shifts, holding up a snapped gold necklace chain. “The chain broke.”</p>
<p>Sylvain removes a hand from her waist and touches the chain. “The ring?”</p>
<p>She looks down, looking guilty. “I don’t know. I’m so, so sorry Sylvain. I know that it was a family heirloom and I’ve probably just pissed off you and every relative you have.”</p>
<p>Sylvain laughs suddenly and picks her up, spinning her around, grinning. He puts her back on her feet and she looks at him, breathless and surprised. “Ingrid, I couldn’t care less about the ring. I don’t care if you have it or you lost it or if you thought it was ugly and wanted to throw it to Ailell.” He lowers his voice so that it is for her alone. “I just care about you.”<br/><br/>Ingrid’s surprise breaks into a beautiful smile as one of her hands touches his cheek. “Sylvain,” she breathes. </p>
<p>“Marry me,” he says. “Ring or no ring, I want you to marry me, Ingrid. I know your father might hate me because of my reputation and I might not be the best choice for Galatea and I know you might not even like Gautier, but-”</p>
<p>He’s cut off by Ingrid yanking his face down to meet hers as she kisses him. He kisses her back as hard as he can, sliding a hand up and back so that he can cup the back of her head through her short blonde hair. Ingrid breaks the kiss, breathing heavily, but her eyes are glowing with life. </p>
<p>“Shut up.” There’s no real ire in her voice and Sylvain smiles. “I’ll marry you,” she says next. She kisses him lightly again before pulling back. “I love you.”</p>
<p>“I love you,” he says back to her. </p>
<p>Ingrid lost the ring, but she loves him and she wants to marry him and Sylvain couldn’t care less about anything else in the history of Fódlan right then, so he kisses her again, ignoring the whoops of the troops around them that have been drawn in as an audience.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>THIS WAS A FLUFF FIC. WHY WOULD I KILL ONE OF THEM.</p>
<p>Anyways, the ring was the real antagonist and it got yeeted away and I regret nothing. Thanks so much to everyone who organized Sylvgrid week and all the mods of the Sylvgrid discord channel. </p>
<p>I've never been this excited for a ship week before and I have never joined such a positive, wonderful community of people. Thanks to everyone enabling me there and to all the writers who made pool noodle jokes after I made one stupid comment.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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